Endgame
by pol
Summary: Minerva has finally admitted defeat. And she's not happy about it, either.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Endgame.

Author: Pol.

Rating: Harmless.

A/N: My very first HP fic. Please tell me how I went. This is actually the last part of a long history I have been writing for ADMM, so watch this space for the prequel. I know this part is short, but when you see the disgusting length of the rest of the thing you'll probably want to kill me. So enjoy my unusual lack of verbosity.

All feedback and helpful comments gratefully received. And all the thanks in the world to Jane for having a sister, and to Alice for being my sounding post.

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She is looking at him in a way he has never seen before. Her eyes are wide, terrified. The colour has drained from her face. Her jaw is tense, as it often is when she is disapproving or argumentative. He cannot in that instant imagine what she is thinking, which is probably just as well because he has no idea how to save her from this. How to save himself.

"Minerva…" he begins uncertainly, alarmed at the softness of his voice. He wishes that she was still his student, that she was still cross with his interference, that she was still fueled by that youthful indignation. She knows better now. She has accepted the hand that life has dealt her. He supposes she came close to dying enough times as an auror that she has stopped expecting life to be about more than survival.

She shakes her head in a quick, sharp gesture of warning.

"Don't. Just…don't."

But the silence is worse than anything, worse than the expression on her face.

"It would be easier if…"

"No! You don't understand, Headmaster," she says stiffly, falling back into formality. "There's no escaping it now."

He hopes that she is wrong but she clearly doesn't think so. She's so horrified by the prospect too that he could really take offense. But he can understand this much. He's horrified also. He knows that he isn't going to stop her.

"You always were fatalistic, Minerva," he murmurs, letting himself step slightly closer. If they're going to do this, they may as well get it over with quickly.

"It's pragmatism. I know you don't like it, but I have seen even you exercise it from time to time."

"Have you indeed?"

She is getting angry now, although her stance and expression haven't changed much. Meanwhile he finds that he is right in her face and it is lucky she is so tall, because he is still able to look at her eyes and nowhere…less appropriate.

"Min…"

"Don't even _think_ about it, Albus Dumbledore!" She snaps then, probably fully aware of what he's doing. Anger has always been her natural defense mechanism and he is not put off by it in the least. He has had years of study in that particular area.

"But you're the one who said…" he begins gently. There is no need to exacerbate the situation.

Her eyes soften slightly; she takes a breath.

"I know," she admits, "but I'm not entirely happy about it."

"Can I suggest that…?"

"No."

Her eyes are holding his. She doesn't want to talk about it. Words make things so much more real, so much more tangible. Especially if you are Minerva McGonagall and your life has been devoted to the study and manipulation of them.

He is at an impasse. It is not surprising that she has him cornered like this, despite letting him make all the moves. This is how she plays chess too, luring him into his own destruction. It is of the mildest frustration to him that her stillness, her catlike patience, always provokes him into giving himself away.

Nevertheless, it is an unfortunate time for it to happen now and he knows very well that the next move will be the end of both of them.

For a split second she does not look terrified. Instead she seems to be profoundly apologetic. Just sorry.

And then she has kissed him, hard and very angry, and she is walking away before he can recover.

He has never been kissed quite like that before, quite so furiously, quite so lovingly. He does not think he wants to play this game again. It is horrifying.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I really didn't intend to write a second chapter for this part of my arc but I just couldn't help myself. I think this leads better into Minerva's fifth year, which will probably be the next chapter, unless I have another unexpected burst of creativity.

A lot of people seemed confused by the first chapter-by what they were talking about. I had no intention of being deliberately difficult but I am still a little concerned that it's only going to get worse. I will say now, in case you have any grand notions about plot content or something, that they were actually only talking about the impending kiss itself. Oh, and characters etc that arise in this chapter will be introduced properly as we go back into Minerva's childhood.

All the usual disclaimers, ratings and whatever still apply. I'm sure I must have had something witty to say about them in the first chapter.

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Absolutely it is her fault. She knows that and tries to accept it, but it doesn't quite seem fair that she take all the blame when she was clearly provoked.

He was hopeless really. Wasn't he?

Minerva sighs and straightens her shoulders, prepping herself for the short walk across the teachers' foyer to the Great Hall.

Of course she is going to have to see him again. She could hardly have expected otherwise.

But Minerva is shaken. The idea of seeing him in mere moments, the idea of taking on the responsibility for the awkwardness of the situation…it is ridiculous.

"_Ridiculous,"_ she hisses under her breath.

Honestly. The whole point of taking such drastic measures was to get it out of their systems. _Both _of theirs. Because he'd provoked it in her.

"Morning, Minerva," Filius mutters, sort of sleepily, as he wanders past her.

She opens her mouth to reply but he is already through the door. As it swings back toward her she catches a glimpse of the sea of uniformed students; the whirring of indiscriminate chatter.

With a small, almost unseeable nod of her head, she continues onward through the doorway. There is nothing, she decides, that could make things more awkward at this point. Unless she didn't show herself at all. That _would _be a dismal state of affairs.

And so it is that she takes her seat beside Albus. She is not, to her immediate relief, the last staff member to be seated. They are, rather uncharacteristically, still waiting for Severus.

Albus, who had been saying something to Hagrid, turns to her with a smile. It is the most awful smile she has ever seen. It is a smile that says _I have already forgotten the whole thing and am happy to let you pretend that you haven't completely ruined our friendship. _

There is, however, something a little off about it, as though his glasses are hiding the rest of it, tucked up behind his eyes.

The idea makes her distinctly _less _comfortable.

"Good morning, Minerva," he murmurs congenially. "I trust you had a pleasant evening?"

At this absurdity she cannot help but raise an eyebrow.

"Albus…" She starts, but he has realized what he has said and a faint tinge of blush creeps into his beard.

"That was…"

"Insensitive of you? Yes, I'd say so," she snaps. She cannot stop herself.

He is still for a moment, in which she is almost made to regret her words.

When he speaks, there is a coolness to his voice, but it is genuinely perplexed.

"Who has been wronged here, Minerva? I was under the impression…"

"_Wronged?_ For pity's sake…"

But Severus has swept into the room, rather noisily, and captures Albus' attention. Once the younger professor is seated Albus stands and addresses the students, wishing them a good morning and an enjoyable breakfast. The sincerity in his voice is completely off-putting, although she has known him long enough by now to know that he is able to divide his emotions quite successfully where occasion warrants.

By the time he has seated himself again and turned back to her, she has managed to occupy herself entirely with her eggs and toast. It is, however, unavoidable that she feels his eyes on her, waiting, patient.

_Bloody patience. Snap, why don't you? Go on. Go on!_

But he doesn't. He is calm, much calmer than she is.

Finally, aware that she will be unable to digest her eggs until she has given herself some peace, she meets his eyes.

The smile is gone from his face. Utterly. He looks tired and old and sort of…disappointed. Minerva can remember the first time he looked that way at her and how it ate and ate and ate at her. The year before Varyev died. The year before she had an answer for him. The year before she…

Minerva shakes her head, again almost imperceptibly. But Albus sees it. Of _course _he sees it.

"What is it, Min?" He asks, falling back on her old nickname as though the rest of Hogwarts is not here to listen in on them. It is a somewhat comforting gesture and she gives him a half-smile, a wry indication of their friendship.

"I was just thinking…"

"Mmm?"

"It's entirely beside the point," she warns him, only half-lying.

"I like your tangents," he replies easily. She is afraid that he is not lying at all.

"I was just thinking about my fifth year."

"As a _student_?"

"No, Albus, as a cyclops," she retorts.

His eyes grace her with a touch of that hidden smile.

"Your fifth year. The year you started on your Transfiguration project."

She nods. He has an astounding memory, when he tries. Although he seems to prefer vagueness.

"The year you helped your friend Mr. Menek secure the interest of that round-faced Hufflepuff girl."

"Caludine."

"Ah, yes. Caludine. The year…oh, the year Andric Martinson came to see me about you."

Minerva is watching him closely now. His eyes are no longer focused on her, but rather at some distant point in his mind's eye where these snapshots of life are held. She thinks he may be reliving them, but cannot be sure, so she watches.

"He came on a Hogsmeade day," she prompts him.

"You'd bought a book at Flourish and Blotts. A history book."

"History of Transfiguration," she corrects him.

He takes a quick breath and comes back to her.

"You weren't terribly happy with me back then. I seem to have started a pattern."

Minerva bites at her lip for a second.

"I was thinking the reverse."

"Oh?"

"My fifth year was the first time I…"

"You what, my dear?"

In this particular instant she wants to tell him, she really does. But she knows that she will regret it later. She knows that there is already enough sitting between them now.

Last night she kissed him. She _kissed_ him. Things will probably never be as they were again and they both know it. It has nothing to do with kissing, not really. There are so many larger issues now.

Hidden hurt, bottled-up feelings. Years and years and years of deceptions and misdirections and possibly missed opportunities. Misuse of trust and half-truths. There are so _many _indiscretions laid bare between them now. She does not want to overburden their friendship with this final declaration.

Albus has this uncanny way sometimes of looking as though your most private of thoughts are perfectly plain to him. And he is merely waiting for you to realize them yourself.

Today Minerva does not comply, although she knows perfectly well that he will question her about it.

Time. She just needs more time.

At the hint of a quirk in his fuzzy grey brow, Minerva is appalled to find that she has spoken aloud.

_Time_ she has said. _I just need more time. _

"I thought we had understood that time has defeated us," Albus replies, his use of the plural expert and painfully fitting.

He is right. The kiss did say that. _She _may have even said it. She can't quite remember what she said last night any more.

_There's no escaping it now. _

She said that. And when he'd attempted a rebuttal she had stopped him short. So maybe it was fatalistic, but at the time it really _had_ felt as though there was nothing more to be done. She had run from this ultimately inevitable conclusion to their conjoined lives and when she had stood and fought back (kissed him) it was to be her final checkmate.

"Chess tonight?" She asks, in line with her thinking.

He chuckles.

"Not your smoothest sedgeway, my dear."

"You don't know everything I think, Headmaster," she tells him primly, pretending that it's true. For some time now, she's believed otherwise.

"I expect you're correct," he answers mildly, actually managing to surprise her. Does he really think so?

"Now why would you say a thing like that?" She asks, suddenly curious and more than a little thankful to leave the earlier conversation behind them.

She is not so lucky as she would wish.

"Minerva…last night…"

She shakes her head quickly, firmly. They are at a breakfast table. The students, the professors, the groundskeepers…it is neither the time, nor the place. Nor her wont.

"I only meant to say that I did not see it coming."

"You should have."

"Perhaps I have been mistaken."

She is not quite sure she knows what he means but it is rapidly approaching time for classes and she has a bunch of bright-eyed young Ravenclaws to contend with. Does he mean that he mistook her intentions last night? Or that he has been mistaken about their friendship? Or…She cannot think of anything else and the shortness of her list makes her terse. She dislikes a scarcity of options, as well he knows.

"I highly doubt it," is the last she says to him before she takes her leave. She still has not told him about that first look of disappointment, the one that changed her life. Or about the twin look of disappointment she can still see as he watches her rise and collect her robes about herself.

She thinks this is best kept to herself.

xxxxxxxxxx

It is one small luxury of his old age that Albus does not teach any longer, although a luxury he could well forgo. He has not in all his life found anything so fulfilling, so enticing or so rewarding as teaching. He still misses it terribly and finds that he slips into it at the most inopportune times, whether a student, parent, friend or professor cross his path. Still, today is a day when it is probably for the best that after a meeting with the Ministry he has some time to sort his thoughts.

Last night was an awful shock to his system, but Albus can see the use of clearing the air about those sorts of things, and he doesn't begrudge Minerva the fact that she felt the need to see things through. Now, however, he would dearly like to move past it all. But Minerva is determined, apparently, to make that impossible, or at least so she intimated at breakfast.

There are also a few holes to her usually impeccable train of thoughts. He has caught her at odds with herself at least twice, not including her delayed entrance. It may not have been as spectacular as Severus', but it hardly escaped his notice.

Still, there are two that really gall him. The first was her rather left-field admission that she'd been thinking of her incarnation as a fifth year student. He had tried to follow the logic of this, but his own memories of her fifth year are scant. Very, very clear, but there are so few of them. He has seen hundreds upon hundreds of fifth years in his lifetime, including of course, his own classmates. He is rather ashamed to admit that his own year of fifth years are the ones that stand out most prominently in his mind, although this is perhaps to be expected.

It is Minerva's sixth year that he remembers most particularly. With alarming clarity. And precision. And depth. He has always known that he ought not to have favoured the memories of one student over another, but that is just not the way that life works things sometimes. Minerva's sixth year was remarkable for many reasons; it was remarkable to _him_, if not to her. She was just surviving it.

The second was her blatant avoidance of answering his question. _Chess _she'd asked, as though their weekly plans would suddenly have been spun upside-down just because of one horrid kiss. She hadn't needed to ask that question; it is very unlike her to voice the superfluous.

The first time she had…what? He _had _needed to ask his question and she had obscured it with unnecessary space-filler. That is so _very _atypical of her. It had made his stomach clench and it still has the same effect.

Albus is sure that there are many "firsts" in Minerva's life he has not been privy to and will never know about. But her fifth year? It was the first time she wore her hair in that bun she is so fond of. It was the first time she got drunk, although he has always professed disinformation about that particular fact. He was, after all, her head of house at the time, and children can be expelled for those sorts of things. It was the first time she came to see him in his office. The first time Andric Martinson came to see her at school, or at Hogsmeade, at any rate.

It was the last time a great many things occurred too, but he isn't going to go into that.

And when he says _horrid _he doesn't mean it like that. Being kissed by Minerva _is _horrid, but not in the normal sense of the word. It would have been wonderful, it really would, had it not laid bare so many, many things.


End file.
